Page 32 of Crush (Deadly Hearts 1)

ChapterEighteen

Ruby

Giving Declan a shy smile, I bend to drag my panties back up and shove my dress down. Thankfully, David beat a hasty retreat, after he delivered the news that the cops were here. Well, one cop in particular.

“Excuse me,” I murmur and disappear into the bathroom to clean up and make myself look presentable, and not like a dirty whore who engages in filthy behavior in her office at work. I can’t help the shiver of delight that goes over me though at actually being that dirty whore. I would never, could never debase myself to that level for anyone other than Declan. He does things to my soul that no other man will ever be able to touch.

That is a problem.

A big, massive problem.

I sigh and push this predicament to the side. I have a bigger issue to deal with and there is no getting away from it.

When I come out of the bathroom, Declan isn’t there. I sincerely hope he did what David told him to do and stay behind the scenes. I don’t need the added stress of trying to explain who he is.

Walking out to the bar area, I plaster a smile on my face. “Detective Inspector,” I say. “How are you this morning?”

D.I. Smith turns to look at me. His eyes narrow when he takes in my battered cheek, but then he looks the other way.

Figuratively, of course.

We have a tenuous relationship at best, but for a cut of my illegal earnings, he helps out on the rare occasion that I need him to.

Like today.

“Miss Bellingham,” he clips out, ignoring my pleasantries. “Do you know anything about the incident in the alley next to this establishment yesterday?”

“What incident?” I ask innocently.

“Apparently a man was set upon and allegedly stabbed before he left the scene of the crime. Ring any bells?”

“None at all,” I say, looking him dead in the eye.

He knows I’m lying but he nods anyway. “Would any of your staff have any information?”

“I doubt it. We were all inside yesterday.”

“All day?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Very well. If you or they can think of anything, do give me a call,” he says, which translated actually means ‘don’t ever fucking call me, you psycho bitch.’

I take the big brown envelope that David silently hands me after he appeared like a ghost and hand it to D.I. Smith. “That’s all I remember,” I say.

He takes the envelope and folds it over, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. “Good day, Miss Bellingham.”

I watch him stalk out and exhale in relief, turning to the bar to lean on it for a moment. I feel like it’s always a gamble when he shows up whether it will go according to plan or not.

Big, strong arms suddenly wrap around me, and I lean back slightly with a smile as Ramsey kisses the top of my head. “Everything okay?” he asks.

I tense up and frown. “What are you doing?” I ask stiffly.

“Asking if everything is okay,” he says cautiously.

“And what does that do?”

“Crosses a line?” he asks.

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